


Equivocation

by Aki (Akiko_Natsuko)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Blood and Injury, Crossover, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Serious Injuries, Trust Issues, Uncertain relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 11:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18590179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Aki
Summary: It’s not a relationship.Jason’s not sure what this strange, something thing between them is, but he’s reasonably sure that it’s not a relationship. At least not in the traditional sense. There’s been no mention of feelings, at least not beyond a mutual want, bred in snatched moments amidst the blood and fire of fights, and in the brief interludes where they’ll find somewhere to hole up for a few days, creating an illusion of something more.





	Equivocation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatch/gifts).



 

It’s not a relationship.

     Jason’s not sure what this strange, something thing between them is, but he’s reasonably sure that it’s not a relationship. At least not in the traditional sense. There’s been no mention of feelings, at least not beyond a mutual want, bred in snatched moments amidst the blood and fire of fights, and in the brief interludes where they’ll find somewhere to hole up for a few days, creating an illusion of something more. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, and they can go for months without contact, only to slip together like two pieces of the same chaotic puzzle when they come together. He knows that means something, but he’s not sure what, or if he even wants to know. Besides it’s easier not to ask, to keep going as they are, and really there’s no need to as whatever this strange thing between them is, it works, and why question something when it’s not broken?

*

    It’s been a couple of months, and Jason is stood in the cramped bathroom of the current motel room he’s claimed as a base, staring at his reflection as he attempts to stem the blood trickling from his nose and lip. Each movement reminding him that there are other injuries to be dealt with too, because he aches, hurting in a way that he hasn’t for a while. A curse slipping out as he forgets himself, lifting one arm a little too high, pulling on the shards of glass that had made it through his jacket during his less than graceful escape.

     There’s a quiet noise behind him as he lets his arm fall, nose flared with the pain, and he might not have caught it were he not still on edge, the adrenaline from the fight keeping him on high alert even with the pain dulling his thoughts. His hand is already reaching for the bloodied knife on the counter, before he spied movement in the mirror, lifting his head to meet dark eyes. There’s a moment where they stare at each other, Jason arching an eyebrow his fingers still on the knife, and the other man still and silent, studying him with unsettling intensity. “Successful?” The question, and the calm in the eyes telling him that the Soldier is buried for now, and he smirks, revealing bloody teeth.

“What does it look like?” He’d been frustrated for a while, leads drying up or leading him to nothing and there hadn’t been a decent fighter amongst those he’d come up against, leaving him itching for an outlet. The fight tonight hadn’t been necessary, it hadn’t earned him anything apart from a pounding, but it’s eased the itch and boredom that came from getting nowhere. However, seeing Bucky and knowing that the other man could close the distance between them in the time it would take him to turn around, has a different kind of want bubbling up and his grin fades away. It’s not that he doesn’t want… but he’s wary of the way it hits him, consuming him, a feeling that leaves him feeling vulnerable and he clutches the edge of the sink as he falls back into his usual defensiveness. “Forget something?” It comes out more accusatory than he’d intended, and he knows even before Bucky’s expression darkens, closing off, that it wasn’t fair. After all, that was one of the unspoken rules – no expectations, and he’s used it more than once, slipping away in the dead of night or ignoring messages.

  He’s fucked up, he thinks, waiting for Bucky to turn away. For the door to close behind another person walking away from him, only this time he would only be able to blame himself. However, Bucky has always been the only person capable of surprising him, perhaps because they’re so alike, and he blinks as instead of leaving Bucky moves towards him. There’s a predator’s grace in the movement, and he can’t look away, even as he’s half-braced for a blow, still amped up after the earlier fight, and he’s not sure if its relief or disappointment that grips him when Bucky steps up alongside him and holds out a hand.

“Give.” The shortness is telling in its own right. Bucky isn’t walking away, but he isn’t happy. He might not be the most talkative person, even when the Soldier is locked away, but he usually has more for Jason.

   He almost argues, wanting to provoke something more out of Bucky, but he remembers the brief flicker of something… fear maybe, that he’d experienced when he’d thought the other man was going to walk away, and instead he finds himself surrendering the bloody cloth he’d been using. Bucky makes a disgusted noise, but accepts it, tugging Jason to face him, eyes roving over the damage. His touch when it comes isn’t gentle, but it's careful, each movement deliberate as he wipes away the fresh blood that’s gathered during their brief interaction. By the time he’s done the cloth is a lost cause, soaked through with his blood and Bucky drops it unceremoniously into the sink before reaching for one of the towels, already stained yellow with age and pressing it to Jason’s nose with a blunt. “Hold that in place.”

“Yes, Sir.” The words are out before he can stop them, and he sees Bucky tense, blankness overtaking his expression for a long moment before he manages to push it back. Still, there’s a slight tremble to his hand as he reaches for the battered first aid kit that Jason had dumped on the counter when he’d first come back.

   It’s not the first time that his words have hit a sore point, and he knows that it won’t be the last, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel a pang of guilt. He knows better than most, what it feels like to have someone aim at your most broken part and he bites the inside of his cheek, wincing as he catches one of the cuts before reaching out. He doesn’t trust his mouth right now, aware that he’s skating on thin ice, and besides, gestures have always meant more than words to him, and he has a feeling that Bucky’s the same, and so he lightly grasps the other man’s shoulder.

  It’s the closest he will come to an apology, but it seems to be enough as the hard lines of Bucky’s shoulders relax after a moment, and he reaches up to squeeze his finger, before turning towards him with the faintest quirk of his lips to show that Jason’s forgiven. “This is going to hurt.” It sounds more like a threat than a warning, and there’s a glint in the dark eyes that tells him the tone was deliberate, a reminder that while he’s been forgiven, for now, it’s not been forgotten, and he just nods his agreement. Plus, he hadn’t been looking forward to trying to remove the glass himself, and so in a sign of trust, meant to mollify Bucky a bit more, he turns and presents his back, immediately hissing as he inadvertently jerks his jacket against the glass. It earns him an exasperated sigh from the other man, and he’s unearthed enough about Bucky’s past to recognise that he’s reminded him

    There’s a retort on the tip of his tongue, his decision to remain quietly quickly forgotten, but the urge to argue fades as he feels fingers, both flesh and metal ghosting over his back, almost gentle as they frame the area that has been torn to ribbons. “Are you attached to this jacket?”

“Well yeah,” Jason mutters. “It’s wrapped around me.” It takes him a moment to place the odd noise from behind him as a muffled snort of laughter, and he blinks. It’s hard enough to startle a smile out of the other man at the best of times, not that he can really blame him, but he can’t think of a time when he’d heard Bucky laugh, at least not beyond the bitter, twisted mockery of a chuckle that greeted any references to his past.

“Not what I meant.” Bucky’s using more words now which is a good sign, and Jason smirks, lifting his eyes to meet Bucky’s gaze in the mirror.

“I know. Do what you have to, it’s just an old jacket.”

        He struggles not to flinch as Bucky reaches around him to take the knife he’d gone for earlier, and he knows that the reaction had been caught because Bucky waited, giving him a moment to quell the instinctual urge to lash out. An urge he probably understands more than anyone else Jason has ever met, and it’s that which allows him to suck in a deep breath, still muffled by the towel pressed to his face, and nod to show that he’s okay. Either he’s more transparent than he cares to think, or Bucky knows him a little too well, and he’s not sure which bothers him more, because the other man is slow as he begins to cut the jacket away from the glass. Each movement carefully planned, and he finds himself having to look down, not sure what to make of the focused expression on Bucky’s face or the concern in the eyes that occasionally flick up to him.

   The jacket is ruined and covered in a lot more blood than he’d been expecting when Bucky finally peels it off, silently easing it over his arms until he can drop the pieces on the floor. And Jason spares a brief thought for the unlucky person who’ll have to clean the room when they’re gone, before hissing again as Bucky begins to probe the cuts. There’s a murmur that might be an apology, or an order to stay still and he’s quick to grip the sink again, already knowing this is going to hurt like hell and wishing he’d had a bit more to drink.

    There’s skill in the fingers that begin to work on the first piece of glass, and its easier to focus on that and on the dark thoughts that follow, such as where Bucky had been forced to learn that kind of skill, than on the sickening tug of his own skin or the pain that burns through his shoulder. It’s clear he’s not alone in his thoughts though because Bucky’s face has taken on a familiar dark cast that warns of memories that are bubbling too close to the surface. If it were anyone else he’d have needled because it was the kind of expression that promised a reaction, but whether it was because of the gentleness Bucky was showing him, or because he already knew the reasons for that expression and hated every single one of them, he remained silent.

*

    A long, painful hour passed without a single word being spoken between the two, and a pile of bloody shards building up on the edge of the basin. Making Jason realise he’d been a bit worse off than he’d thought and he grimaced at the mere thought of having to try and take them all out by himself.

“I think that’s all of them,” Bucky murmured finally, the darkness having eased a little as he met Jason’s gaze in the mirror.

“I’m sure we’ll find out,” Jason replied with grim humour, knowing that wasn’t something he wanted to discover. This had been painful enough, he didn’t want to imagine what it would be like if infection set in, or if Bucky disappeared again and he had to deal with it himself, and there’s a plea on the tip of his tongue, and he barely manages to swallow the ‘stay’ that threatens to escape.

“Let’s hope not.” Bucky clearly doesn’t share his humour, as he’s less gentle as he cleans the wounds one last time and wraps the shoulder tightly, leaving Jason at a severe disadvantage for the moment. At least he finally gets to abandon the towel, the bleeding had finally stopped, leaving his face streaked with red, his nose and lip throbbing in unison and he can tell he’ll have one hell of a black eye by morning. Fingers brush his cheek, the metal shockingly cold against the swollen skin and he barely manages to stop himself from flinching, shooting a glare at Bucky as he adds deadpan. “You look like hell.”

“Damn, and there’s a beauty pageant on tomorrow.” The retort is more defensive than he’d intended it to be, and he hastily busies himself in splashing water onto his face and trying to wash off the worst of the blood, trying to hide from the burning gaze he can feel considering him. The water is beginning to run clear, when there’s a sigh from behind him and the sensation of lips brushing his skin at the edge of the bandages, before Bucky is moving away, their eyes meeting in the mirror as Jason lifts his head as the other man glances back.

“Are you coming to bed?” The question is neutral, offering him a choice and ignoring his previous tone and not for the first time tonight Jason wonders at the patience he’s being shown. He doesn’t miss the implication that Bucky is staying as well, at least for tonight and seizes on that because it’s easier than the odd emotions beneath it.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he makes no effort to hide the innuendo, lips curled into a grin that he knows is bordering on a smirk as he turns to face Bucky, stubbornly ignoring the voice that’s telling him to stop pushing. For his part, Bucky just looks incredulous for a moment, before something softens in his expression.

“Maybe in the morning…” He mutters before disappearing out of the bathroom. It’s a promise of sorts, confirmation that Bucky will still be there in the morning and the relief that grips Jason is too strong.

It shouldn’t matter.

    They’re not supposed to have expectations, it’s got them this far and yet, as he glances down at his carefully bandaged shoulder, remembering the strange gentleness, he can’t help but wonder if they have more.

It’s not a relationship, but, maybe it could be.

 


End file.
